


The Widow and Her Summers

by acs



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, First Meetings, Hook-Up, International Day of Femslash, Last Character Standing at the End, She buried all her lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1987509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acs/pseuds/acs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times the Black Widow encountered a Summers woman. And one time she said goodbye to everyone she outlived. For the 2014 IDF and <a href="http://www.tthfanfic.org/Challenge-7958/2014+International+Day+of+Femslash+Crossover+First+Meeting+Challenge.htm">2014 International Day of Femslash Crossover Challenge on Twisting the Hellmouth</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Joyce

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is a transformative work. All things/persons from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ are the property of Fox Television and were created by the folks at Mutant Enemy (aka Joss Whedon and Co.). Disney/Marvel owns the Black Widow and other Marvel characters appearing in this story. The story idea itself and the words used to create it are mine.  
>  **Spoilers:** None that matter.  
>  **Notes:**  
>  **1.** The Black Widow as depicted in this story is an amalgamation of the character in the MCU and Marvel Universe (I'm not a huge fan of the movie depictions of her but used some elements of that characterization anyway) but is, by necessity, an AU version. Purists may wish consider her to be a bit OOC to lower their stress levels.  
>  **2.** The Black Widow goes by several different names in this story, all valid according to Marvel.  
>  **3.** This is sort of a PWP, if you squint hard enough, but I don't write sex scenes. Sorry. At certain points in the story you'll need to use your imagination.  
> 

Through her seat in the window, the Widow watched her target rush down the sidewalk, packages clutched precariously in her arms, her face tilted down away from the glaring sun. Slipping out of the coffee shop, she followed, her stride giving the appearance of casualness, but keeping her within several strides.

The woman wasn’t her preferred choice for a floater but the only one that would allow her to meet her already compressed schedule. The job had been seemingly cursed from the beginning but it was too late to back out now. Especially with the drop dead date had been moved from late spring to mid winter. Days from now.

If she could insert herself into this woman’s life for several days, or even hours, it would give her enough cover to infiltrate the very insular world of private LA galleries, something she’d been unable to do without the backing of her former masters, which was no longer an option.

Joyce Summers, a soon-to-be divorcee with a troubled daughter might not look it to outsiders but she had connections in the art world that would make the heads of many national art museums jealous. And right now, the Widow really needed those connections. 

She’d come up with and discarded a dozen different plans for infiltrating Summers’ life, eventually settling on the classic white knight approach. All she needed to do was rescue a hopefully grateful woman from a potentially violent mugging as she rushed to her gallery after visiting her daughter. The setup had been simplicity itself. A few words in the right ears would send one of the more gullible members of the LA underworld into her target’s path. From there the plan was almost fool proof.

* * *

Joyce hurried down the sidewalk, headed back to her office. It hadn't been the best day. Visiting Buffy at the private mental hospital Hank’s insurance had insisted on had gone like every other visit. Since the District Attorney had dropped the charges in exchange for a psych evaluation, Buffy had been committed for at least six months, or until she was deemed cured of her delusions. Joyce hadn’t been able to find a lawyer willing to get Buffy released as long as she continued insisting that vampires were real. Something Joyce didn’t think her daughter was even capable of in her current drugged state. But they wouldn’t decrease the drugs until she changed her story. It was an impossible situation.

Stopping at home, she’d been welcomed by a large envelope containing divorce papers from Hank’s lawyer. They hadn’t been a complete surprise, he blamed her for the embarrassment Buffy’s problems had caused him, but she thought he could have at least handed them over to her in person. And to top it all off, she’d had to pick up one of the pieces for the gallery’s holiday display personally. A quarter of a million dollars in sixteen century Incan metalwork sitting in her purse. If anything happened to it, she’d have no place to bring Buffy home if she could even afford a lawyer to get her out of that institution.

The sun was glaring in her eyes as she turned the corner, two blocks from her office. With a body shaking crash her progress was brought to a sudden stop, causing her to drop everything except her purse. Something roughly grabbed her shoulder as she tried to step back

"I’m sorry," she said, looking up to find herself being held by a large man. From the scar on one side of his face to a tattoo down the other, and the expensive tailored suit, he looked like something out of one of Hank’s favorite gangster movies. His large left hand gripped her shoulder while his other hand was wrapped around the strap of her purse.

"Please let go," Joyce said, trying to pull back from him.

"No," the man said, in a thick accent Joyce couldn’t identify. He tugged on her purse.

"Let go," Joyce said louder, hoping someone would stop and help her. His grip tightened painfully on her shoulder.

"I’ll take this," he said, tugging harder on her purse.

"You can’t have it, that’s mine," she said, twisting and pulling in vain to get free. Out of the corner of her eye she looked desperately for help but the street seemed to have suddenly cleared.

"Mine now," he said. "You is mine now also," he added when she refused to let go of the purse. Letting go of the purse, he covered her mouth with his hand to keep her from screaming.

Feeling nauseous, and frightened, Joyce kicked his legs and tried to stomp on his feet but the man ignored her.

From behind her a woman’s voice shouted, "Let her go!"

The man laughed and turned, dragging Joyce after him across the street. Several steps later he came to an abrupt halt.

"I told you to let her go," the same voice said again.

"No," he said.

There was a sharp crack and she smelled ozone. The man fell forward, pulling Joyce down with him. His grip on her suddenly disappeared and Joyce fell back, hitting her head on the sidewalk, blacking out.

* * *

Groaning, Joyce opened her eyes, and found herself looking up into a pair of green eyes above a pert nose, framed by short ebony hair with a faint blue tinge.

"What happened?" she asked, trying to sit up. It felt like she was lying on a bench.

"You hit your head," the woman said, a very faint Southern accent making her sound exotic to Joyce’s West Coast ears.

"You saved me from that… that…," Joyce couldn’t think of a word to describe her assailant.

"Yes," the woman said, helping her up.

"Thank you," Joyce said. "Where’d he go?"

"He didn’t like my taser," the woman said. "He ran away."

"My purse?" Joyce said, looking around desperately, the quick movements causing her to wince in pain.

"Right here," the woman said, gesturing to her other side.

"And my other packages," Joyce said, spotting them next to her purse. 

"Of course," the woman said, not explaining how they’d been retrieved. She handed the purse to Joyce.

"Thank you," Joyce said, opening her purse to check its contents. Satisfied that everything was still there she put the strap over her shoulder. Looking around she noticed she was even further from her gallery than before, sitting on a bench in the small park near her office that she often ate lunch in. "Did you carry me here?" she asked in surprise.

"You aren’t heavy," the woman said, shrugging.

"I need to get to work," Joyce said, pushing herself up, feeling slightly wobbly. "And you must have places to be."

"You appear to require additional help," the woman said, standing up and collecting Joyce’s packages.

"I can take those," Joyce said, protesting. Taking a step, she winced again.

"No," the woman said. "I’ll carry them for you. Which way is your office?"

"Five minutes past there," Joyce said, pointing at the park entrance.

"Good," the woman said.

"Do you have a name?" Joyce asked.

"You can call me Natalia," the woman said.

"I’m Joyce, Joyce Summers," Joyce said. "Shall we?"

"After you," Natalia said, waiving her forward.

* * *

This is where I should give you a reward for the rescue," Joyce said, tiredly placing her purse on her desk. "Unfortunately, I have a reception to get ready for. Would you take a rain check?" she asked.

"I’m free tomorrow evening," the Widow said. "After that I’ll be on the East Coast for the next year."

"If you don’t mind being surrounded by boisterous art lovers, several overbearing artists, and their patrons, you’re welcome to come to the opening reception tonight," Joyce said hesitantly. "We could have that drink afterward."

"I can do that," Natalia said. "What time?"

"The doors open at seven," Joyce said. Reaching across her desk, she grabbed a small card, writing on the front and back. "It’s invitation only but this will get you past the security at the door." She held the card out for Natalia to take.

* * *

Sighing in relief, Joyce watched the last guest leave, or not, she thought, looking around and seeing Natalia gazing intently at a large watercolor. She’d been too busy working the crowd all evening to do more than briefly acknowledge her appearance and notice how well she blended with the other guests as if she frequented such things every day.

"You’re still here," Joyce said, joining her in front of the painting.

"You promised me a drink," Natalia said, turning her head slightly to look at her.

"There’s some champagne left over," Joyce said. "And I’ve got some forty year old Scotch in my office."

"You don’t strike me as the Scotch type," Natalia said.

"Art gallery in LA," Joyce said. "Rich art lovers spending money expect expensive beverages."

"It’s about the image," Natalia said, nodding.

"Yes," Joyce said. She frowned. "I don’t want to go home," she said.

"Boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

"Soon to be Ex-husband," Joyce said, grimacing. "Hasn’t quite finished moving out."

"I have a bungalow at the Bel-Air," Natalia said nonchalantly. 

"Oh?" Joyce said, raising an eyebrow. "I’m not sure I’m that type of girl, no matter what the traditional reward for a rescue is."

"A drink and conversation," Natalia said, giving her an encouraging smile. "Nothing more."

"That’s a definite possibility," Joyce said. "The cleaning crew will be here first thing in the morning. I just need to lock up."

Leaning forward, Natalia kissed her right cheek. "Meet me outside?"

Blushing, Joyce murmured a soft "Yes" and watched the other woman stride to the entrance. "Just drinks and conversation? And you believe this?" she said to herself.

* * *

"Good morning," a soft voice whispered into Joyce’s ear. 

"That tickles," Joyce said, opening her eyes to see a very naked Natalia leaning over her. "What are you doing up there?" she asked, reaching up to trace the outline of a pert breast.

"Looking at you," Natalia said, smiling. "Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

"Very much," Joyce said, feeling like she should be purring. It had been a fantastic evening. From the moment they stepped into the bungalow, until now. "We have to get up, don’t we," she grumbled, rolling out from under her.

"Yes," Natalia said, slipping off the bed and grabbing a robe. "I have business downtown, and you have to supervise your gallery’s cleaning crew."

"Will you be able to join me for lunch?" Joyce asked, slipping on the fluffy white robe Natalia handed her.

"Unfortunately, no," Natalia said. "I have a meeting at noon and a leave for the airport immediately after."

"That’s disappointing," Joyce said, watching her delightfully naked companion gathering together her things. She decided that she’d ended her experimental phase in college much too soon. "Is there time for a shower?"

"Together?" Natalia asked, stopping to look at her. "I can make time for that," she said in response to Joyce’s nod.

"Good," Joyce said, grabbing Natalia’s hand, and pulling her into the bathroom. "This has to go," she said, taking off her robe.

* * *

Thinks had worked out better than expected, the Widow decided, as she drove towards the airport following her last meeting. She’d made a contact at Joyce’s gallery that had gotten her exactly the opening she needed in less than a day. Her next stop was a small auction house in Manhattan, one step closer to her goal.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t go back to Joyce. It could potentially put her in danger now that the wheels were rolling. Maybe another time. The younger woman had been a delightful bed partner for those brief hours. Experienced at pleasing others but still an innocent, willing to experiment.

Unaccountably feeling bad about the deception of the last day, the Widow decided to make a stop on her way to the airport. A certain young woman could use some advice. And someone encouraged to free her. From what little Joyce had told her the night before it was obviously a trumped up charge. If she was reading the situation correctly, someone had wanted Buffy out of the way until they could retrieve her for their own purposes. That she could deal with with a few well chosen words in the ear of a certain one eyed American agent.

Based on what little exposure she’d had with the supernatural, even she knew vampires were real, though she wasn’t going to tell Joyce that. The Widow didn’t think it would be useful to shatter her illusions. Apparently, vampires were exceedingly rare. She hadn’t seen one in person in decades so finding one to show Joyce would take more time than she had to spare. Nodding to herself, she pulled into the hospital parking lot. It wouldn’t take long and she’d still make her flight.


	2. Buffy

Sipping her lukewarm mocha, Buffy stood just inside the Espresso Shop entrance, staring out at the busy street. Contrary to popular belief, there were several days other where the vampire and demon population stayed out of sight, not just Halloween, and this was one of them. Ironically, according to Willow the number of deaths attributed to barbecue fork incidents took a steep nose dive on one of the biggest barbecue days of the year, the 4th of July.

But did she have someone to share the 4th with? Someone to go down to the beach and watch the fireworks with? Not this year. Willow and Tara were at some Wiccan retreat up in Oregon for the next two weeks, probably with the skyclad-ness, not that she thought about that much. 

Xander was on a road trip to San Francisco with his Uncle Rory, though it was mostly to keep his Uncle out of trouble. Giles was doing some family thing in his ancestral tweed land. At least that was what she thought he’d said. Riley was off being debriefed after the Initiative fiasco and wouldn’t be back until August. Probably with lots of stories of male bonding-age. And some excuse like 'radio silence' to explain his complete lack of communication since he left.

And her Mom? She’d jumped at the chance to visit Aunt Arlene for a couple weeks and go to several nearby auctions. She couldn’t really complain about her buying things for the gallery, since any profit could go for useful things like shoes and clothes, but she’d hoped for a chance to get in some quality mother-daughter time this summer over fireworks and a picnic at the beach. And it didn’t look like it was happening.

So she was spending this holiday on her own. She might even skip the fireworks altogether. A lonely Buffy quickly became a mopey Buffy. Not a pretty sight, even in the mirror.

Sighing, and taking another sip of her mocha, she stepped to the door, intending to head home. Reaching for the door she was instead met with the edge of it slamming into her cup. Her mocha erupted upward like some kind of coffee volcano. Only her quick reflexes prevented her from receiving a coffee facial, which she suspected the hipsters in LA would welcome but wasn’t really a Sunnydale kind of activity. Her cute vintage My Little Pony t-shirt wasn’t so lucky.

"Darn it!" Buffy grumbled, looking down. "At least it wasn’t hot." Finally, a reason to thank the cheap Espresso Shop management for not providing insulated cups and keeping their coffee below McDonalds coffee temperatures. She’d never believed their 'it ruins the flavor' excuse anyway.

"I am sorry," a low, feminine voice said. Buffy looked up, and up, into blue eyes set in a delicate face surrounded by strawberry blonde hair in a cute pageboy cut. Buffy idly wondered what she would look like with that hairstyle.

"My fault," she stammered, stepping back out of the way. "Wasn’t looking for someone else wanting to use the door." Sighing, she looked down at the floor to see it soaking up her coffee, leaving it spotless. She’d have to ask Willow or Tara if they knew the self-cleaning spell used. It would certainly come in handy at home.

"No," the woman said. "I bumped into you. I’ll buy you another of those." She wrinkled her nose cutely. "Your, ah… interesting, shirt I can’t help with."

"Well, if you insist," Buffy said, smiling. "And this old thing? I’ve got something at home that’ll fix it right up."

* * *

Looking in the rearview mirror to see if they were still being followed by one of Fury’s junior agents, the Widow turned into the driveway at 1630 Revello Drive, stopping in front of the garage.

"Nat, you didn’t have to give me a ride home," Buffy said, when the car had stopped.

"You volunteered to go to tonight’s fireworks with me," she said. "I couldn’t let you get away."

"Just doing my civic duty," Buffy said. "The Welcome Wagon was obviously manned by crazy people. The best place to view the beach fireworks is the pier, not the amusement park, unless you manage to snag a ticket on the ferris wheel and those sell out in May."

"I appreciate your advice," Nat said, smiling.

"Why don’t you come in for a minute while I get into something less coffee coated," Buffy said, climbing out of the low car. Nat nodded in agreement, following her up the porch steps and into the house. 

"Make yourself at home, I’ll be right back," Buffy said, standing on the bottom step in the foyer, and pointing towards the living room. 

Stepping into the living room, the Widow wandered over to a shelf in a corner, housing small crystal nick-nacks and family photographs. Having read the profile provided by Fury, and not forgotten an encounter in LA years ago, the appearance of Joyce Summers in several of them wasn’t a surprise. There were also several group shots that she recognized as Buffy’s friends. The lack of any photos of Buffy’s supposed boyfriend was unexpected.

"That was me during my Dorothy Hamill stage," Buffy said, pointing at a picture of a much younger self in skates, surprising Natalia by her sudden appearance. "Had the haircut and everything."

"You were cute," the Widow said. "Is this your father?" she asked, pointing at the older man in one of the group photos. She knew it wasn’t, but she wanted to get some indication of Buffy’s feeling towards her ostensible mentor figure.

"Giles? Ew… no. He’s more my mom’s type," Buffy said.

"No boyfriend pictures?" Nat asked, not correcting her that her mother had more than one type.

"I didn’t mention a boyfriend," Buffy said, stepping back, her face becoming emotionless.

"No?" Natalia subtly shifted to a relaxed but defensive position in response. "You do not appear to be the type to be without one."

"Dedicated companionship? Who doesn’t want that," Buffy said. "Being spied on by innocent appearing strangers? Not so much. Boyfriend pictures, since you asked, are elsewhere."

"Of course," Natalia said, nodding slightly. She wasn’t sure what had triggered Buffy’s reaction to her comment but the danger was clear.

"So, why shouldn’t I throw you out of my mother’s house?" Buffy asked, her eyes glinting dangerously.

"We haven’t watched the fireworks yet," Natalia said.

"Fireworks!" Buffy said, her voice rising. "I think those are off the table now. Who are you?"

"Why do you think I’m anything more than I appear?" Natalia asked, moving away from the shelf of breakable objects. In the years since she’d first encountered Buffy in that hospital she’d been unable to find anyone willing to explain what supposedly made a Slayer so dangerous, but they’d all warned her to be careful. Even Fury hadn’t known, claiming all known research conducted by the Initiative on Buffy had been destroyed.

"Instinct," Buffy said. "You’re obviously human, not a demon, or a mutant, but with a slight tang of something else."

"Ah," the Widow said, adding the ability to detect human from non-human to her internal file on Buffy Summers.

"And, you look remarkably similar to someone I met years ago," Buffy said, "though it took me a few minutes to realize why you look so familiar."

"Of course," Natalia said. She’d hoped Buffy would be too drugged to remember her visit to the hospital, but obviously something had stuck.

"I took your advice," Buffy said, her expression softening slightly, as she circled Natalia. "Once I convinced them that I was making it all up, they signed the release papers and let my mom take me home."

"They had no valid reason to keep you," Natalia said. Buffy didn’t need to know that she’d provided a little extra incentive for her release.

"Is Nat even your real name?" Buffy asked.

"It’s a diminutive," Natalia said. "A nickname, if you will."

"Huh," Buffy muttered.

"I have obviously overstayed my welcome," Natalia said, edging towards the door.

"You haven’t answered my question," Buffy said, moving to intercept her.

"I was in the area and my employer requested my assistance in an investigation," Natalia said. "It was suggested that you would be willing to provide unencumbered information."

"An investigation into what?" Buffy asked, obviously suspicious.

"An organization my current employer is interested in operated in this area recently," Natalia said. "They called themselves the DRI or Initiative."

"Really? I’m supposed to believe that?" Buffy said. "We already talked to a bunch of stuffy government types about that. Promised not to talk about it to anyone else. Even signed one of those ND thingies."

"Non-Disclosure Agreement?" Natalia said. 

"That’s it," Buffy said. "Not that we would talk to anyone about it anyway, though Giles filed a report with Travers. Higher authority and all that."

"Any records of anything you said about this matter have disappeared, including those NDA’s," Natalia said, or so she’d been told by reputable sources.

"Not surprised. They didn’t like what we told them," Buffy said. "I’d rather go to the fireworks, and answer your questions later. You aren’t a government agent are you? Wouldn’t want to make it look like I’m trying to bride you."

"If you were, fireworks would meet with my approval," Natalia said, relaxing slightly. "And I am currently an agent of a member of your government’s intelligence community."

"My government?" 

"Yes," Natalia said.

"So, fireworks, pier food, and then awkward questions about Maggie Walsh and her band of merry pranksters?"

"I do not have clearance to ask you the appropriate questions," Natalia said. "I was asked to secure your cooperation to discuss this matter with an agent with the clearance."

"Oh, okay," Buffy said. "I can find time in my busy schedule to chat with a minion. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Natalia said.

* * *

"Those were great fireworks," Buffy said, as they walked back to her mother’s house. "Very loud and explodey. And colorful."

"There was a certain amount of unexpected creativity in them," Natalia said.

"The old Mayor, Wilkins, before he turned into a large dinosaur looking thing who tried to eat my high school class, hired a vampire fireworks team once. They managed to set themselves on fire, so he didn’t have to pay them," Buffy said.

"I assume you assisted?" Natalia said.

"No, actually, just an innocent bystander," Buffy said, giggling. "Someone changed their fuses to something a little more energetic."

"I will come for you tomorrow," Natalia said, when they stop in front of Buffy’s house.

"You’re welcome to come in, without the earlier hostility, and general unpleasantness," Buffy said. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"In LA," Natalia said.

"By the time you got down there, you’d have to turn around and come back," Buffy said. "We’ve got a spare room, or we could share."

Natalia gave her a piercing look. She wasn’t completely adverse to the idea, the short blonde woman was certainly appealing, but the offer was unexpected. Nothing in their interaction so far had indicated any interest of that sort by her companion. "Your boyfriend is not a concern?"

"Haven’t heard from him in a month, he doesn’t get a vote on things I do while he’s gone," Buffy said.

"We can share," Natalia said, giving her a small smile, telling herself this was strictly business, ensuring Buffy’s cooperation, though she didn’t quite believe herself.

* * *

"Oh my God. Oh my God," Buffy said in a whisper to herself, glad the streetlights hid what was sure to be an epic blush. "I just propositioned a government agent, a woman, and she said yes! Willow is never going to believe this! She’s going to think it was a spell." The mini rant was cut off by the sight of Nat walking up the porch steps with a rolling gate that caused Buffy to take a deep breath.

"Oh, right," Buffy said, hurrying to catch up and unlock the door. "Would you like a drink?"

"Something non-alcoholic?" Natalia said, following her to the kitchen.

"Fortunately, that’s all we have," Buffy said. "Mom had a scare a couple years ago. Thought she was becoming an alcoholic, so she banned anything like that from the house. So, tea, water, soda, or juice?"

"Tea?" Natalia said.

"We have some tea bags and some loose stuff Mom brought back from a buying trip, though you’ll have to make that yourself. I always end up with mud," Buffy said. Turning around she reached up and took down the jar of tea flakes and the small tea ball her mother insisted was required to brew it.

"Of course," Natalia said, taking them from her. "If you could heat the water?" Carefully opening the tea, she took a long sniff. "An excellent Cassia," she said. Opening the tea ball, she added several scoops of the tea and closed it tightly. "Only a small amount is necessary."

"Oh! That’s what I did wrong," Buffy said, winking at her. "Stuffed it tight."

"That can have an interesting effect," Natalia said, shaking her head.

Sipping her water, Buffy watched Nat poke around as she waited for the water. "Having fun?" she asked. "Are all spies nosy?"

"I am not a spy," Natalia protested. "My skills are put to much better use than common observation."

"Double-O Nat?" Buffy asked, unable to suppress a giggle. At this point, she couldn’t remember what had set her off earlier about Nat. She’d been interesting company at the fireworks and she continued to be interesting. Buffy wasn’t sure what was going to happen when they went upstairs. Sure, she knew the mechanics, sometimes Willow tended to over share in her excitement, and lesbian cheerleaders might be a cliche but she’d seen things in the locker room she’d never forget. Hopefully her lack of experience wouldn’t disappoint. She wasn’t sure she’d ever have the opportunity again.

"Fleming’s spies were too flamboyant," Natalia said. "His Bond character wouldn’t last a week in the real world. License to kill? Bah!" Natalia said, muttering something in a language Buffy wasn’t familiar with.

"Shall we take this upstairs?" Buffy asked, when Nat was done making her tea.

"Yes," Natalia said.

* * *

"Go away," Buffy said at the noise, tightening her grip on Nat.

"Someone is at the door," Natalia said, kissing Buffy on the nose. "If you wish one of us to answer it you need to let go."

"Sorry, sorry," Buffy said, letting go and rolling over onto her back. "I’ll go chase them away. Did you want something better than toast for breakfast? We’ll have to go out."

"I believe you’ve earned a home cooked breakfast," Nat said. "You will answer the door, I will shower, and then make you breakfast, French toast or maybe an omelet while you shower."

"Bossy," Buffy said, leaning over to give her a quick kiss, before jumping out of bed. "But acceptable if you’re gonna feed me something yummy. And coffee."

"Robe?" Natalia said, causing Buffy to pause in her bedroom door.

"You can use that one," Buffy said, pointing at a robe hanging in her closet. "It should fit."

"You always answer the door nude?" Natalia asked her.

"Oh! You mean me in a robe! Right. Wouldn’t want to frighten our rude interrupter," Buffy said.

"Frightening is not how anyone would describe you at this moment," Natalia told her. Looking down at herself, Buffy blushed.

"It’s just me," Buffy mumbled, grabbing her favorite robe off the hook on her door. "Nothing special." Ignoring Nat’s sound of protest, Buffy tightened her belt and stomped down the hall and down the steps, stopping in front of the door. Through the frosted glass, she could see two large figures. Adjusting her robe, and retightening the belt, she opened the door.

"I gave at the office," she said to the two men. The older one looked like a bureaucrat. The other was dressed in dark leather with odd designs. And arms that would have had her drooling, if it were any other morning.

"She’s cute, can we keep her?" the younger man said, before slipping around her, and shouting up the stairs. "Nat! What do you want for breakfast?"

"Who are you!" Buffy asked, turning to glare at her uninvited guest. "And she’s in the shower."

"French toast it is," he said, winking at her before heading towards the kitchen.

"Come back here!" Buffy said. Turning back to the older man, she said "He’s not listening to me."

"Haven’t cured him of that yet," he said, shaking his head.

"Who are you guys?" Buffy asked.

"Agent Coulson, Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," he said.

"Which means what," Buffy asked.

"Classified," he said.

"Of course it would be," Buffy said, leaning against the door to block his entrance. "And why are you here?"

"Agent Barton appears to be making breakfast," he said. "I would like to discuss your involvement with the DRI."

"We can’t do this some other time?" Buffy asked. "I had plans for the day."

"Agent… ah… Nat is required elsewhere this evening," he said.

"I’d prefer if she stay here for a couple more days," Buffy said, trying out her favorite pout on him.

"Buffy, he’s immune to that," Nat said, from the stairs. "Good morning Agent Coulson. Up early?"

"Late night?" he countered.

"Where’s Barton?" she asked, wrapping an arm around Buffy’s waist.

"Making breakfast, apparently," Coulson said.

"And we’re standing here?" Nat said. She grabbed Buffy by the arm, and pulled her away from the door. "You can chat later. He once went undercover at a French cooking academy."

"So, real French toast?" Buffy said, her stomach grumbling.

"Of course," Natalia said.


	3. Dawn

She’d had to call in some favors, and keep a travel bag at the ready, but Dawn had finally done it. Years after finding her mother’s diary in Buffy’s things and rereading Buffy’s diary, she’d found the mysterious Natalia or Nat they’d both written about with such unexpected fondness. That it was the same person had come as a surprise.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Willow asked, watching her packing. "You’re chasing after a ghost who probably doesn’t even remember your sister, or your mother. You don’t even have a picture of her or know her full name."

"That’s you reason for dropping this? Oh, she won’t remember, your idea is a waste of time?" Dawn said, glaring at her. "And I’ll know her when I see her. You saw that tracking spell."

"No, no, that’s not what I meant," Willow said, flopping down onto Dawn’s bed. "This woman is supposed to be some super agent spy. Whatever her reasons for passing through Joyce and Buffy’s lives back then, she’s not going to tell you. And do you really, really want to know if she had sex with both of them? Because I’m not sure if that’s healthy."

"Ew!" Dawn said, shuddering. "Let’s never speak that word about my mother again," she said.

"If you say so," Willow said. "When’s your flight to Vegas? And who’s going with you?"

"Noon, and no one," Dawn said. "This is a solo mission."

"And Xander agreed?"

"He doesn’t know," she said. "It’s none of his business. And don’t go telling him."

"Your funeral," Willow said. "Keep in touch or I’ll tell him where you went."

"Yes, Auntie Willow," Dawn said. "You’re number one on my speed dial."

"Good," Willow said, getting up to give her a hug.

* * *

Dawn rubbed her eyes tiredly. She hadn’t quite recovered from the jet lag. Why she thought she’d be in any shape to start her search immediately after a flight from Heathrow, on one of the busiest weekends of the year, she didn’t know.

Knowing her target was in Vegas within a certain distance wasn’t the same thing as having her in her sights, Dawn realized. She’d paid a lot for the tracking spell she was using but it wasn’t going to get much better than this. And she was running out of time. She had to find her tonight, before midnight or Willow would sick Xander on her.

Holding the stack of chips she’d gotten so she could play a few games and not look out of place, Dawn headed towards the blackjack tables. There were places where she wasn’t allowed within a hundred meters of any type of gambling establishment but Vegas wasn’t one of them. Yet. It’s not that she counted cards, or cheated, to put it bluntly, but once her luck kicked in it was almost impossible for her to not win. Which tended to make people running gambling establishments exceedingly suspicious. Pausing to get a feel for the room’s atmosphere, Dawn ran her eyes along the tables. Roulette was too easy, so she focused on the different card games, looking for a likely table.

At the opposite side of the large room was a half empty table. Either the people at it were VIPs or everyone else considered it a very unlucky table. Her favorite kind. Smiling in delight, she pocketed her chips and slipped into the crowd.

She didn’t head directly there, instead stopping at other tables along the way, gazing casually at the action for a few minutes before moving on. The atmosphere in the room was generally positive. People seemed to be happy winning or losing, mostly losing, as they waited out the last few minutes of the last day of the year.

She was one table over from her target table when the necklace her tracking spell was tied to started to lightly tug at her neck. Frowning, Dawn turned quickly, hoping to find what she was looking for. As she took a step away from her current table, a woman moving quickly slammed into her, knocking her towards the floor.

At the moment of collision, the necklace tugged very sharply.

"There you are, Natalia," Dawn said, wrapping her arms tightly around the slim woman before she could get away, preventing them both from hitting the floor. It was a risky maneuver, given who it probably was, but this might be her only chance. The woman in her arms became impossibly still at her words.

"I believe you are mistaken," the woman said in a sultry voice, looking down at her with blue eyes that seemed to see into Dawn’s soul.

"No," Dawn said. "Different hair color and eye color, but other than that you’re exactly as my mother described you. And my sister."

"You bagged a mother and daughter?" a male voice said excitedly behind them. "Did you tape it?"

"And I see you brought the boy band tonight," Dawn said with a grimace, straightening up but not letting go. "Not at the same time, that’s just wrong," she added.

"Boy band?" a large male with long blonde hair said with an accent she couldn’t quite identify.

"She means us," another healthy male specimen said.

"I’m assuming you’re their protection," Dawn said, smirking.

"I don’t need protection," a vaguely familiar man said, with the first voice she’d heard. "Starks are raised to take care of themselves."

The possible Natalia snorted in amusement. "Who is your mother," she asked, freeing herself from Dawn’s grip.

"My mother was Joyce Summers," Dawn said softly, so only she could hear. "And Buffy was my older sister."

"I was not aware that she had a second daughter," Natalia said, acknowledging the past tense.

"Well, now you know," Dawn said.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Looking for you," Dawn said. "Wanted to chat and buy you a drink. Wasn’t expecting the minion entourage. We can ditch them."

"You can’t leave," Stark said, frowning. "The table is just getting hot."

"Hot woman. Hot table. I know which one I’d choose," Dawn said, grabbing Natalia’s hand and pulling her towards the exit with a laugh.

"Where are you going?" Stark yelled. "You’re taking my good luck."

"Somewhere else!" Dawn said. "Don’t worry, you’ll get her back in one piece."

"You are very confident that’ll I’ll go with you," Natalia said, following her into the casino bar.

"I did my research," Dawn said, sitting on an empty stool. "If you didn’t want to go with me, I know I wouldn’t be able to make you."

"Yes," Natalia said. "Why did you really look for me?" she asked bluntly, sitting next to her.

"I was curious. Wanted to know what makes you so special. And I don’t mean the spy or superhero stuff," she said. "Something about you stuck with my mother and my sister. Pages of their diaries are devoted to you all out of proportion to the time you apparently spent with them."

"I’d like to see those," Natalia said.

"They’re someplace safe," Dawn said. "It’s possible you might be allowed to see them. Some day."

"You don’t look much like your sister," Natalia said. "Or mother."

"Buffy never forgave me for getting all the tallness in the family," Dawn said, smirking. "And I’m better looking. But our hair was actually the same color, she just over did it with the bleach bottle."

"You have questions," Natalia asked. "There are things I can not talk about."

"I won’t ask anything dangerous," Dawn said, shaking her head. "I was just wondering why you hooked up with both Mom and Buffy. They wrote down the how but didn’t explain the why. Though I can’t believe how much ink Buffy spent trying to figure out if you spilled her coffee intentionally. She seemed a bit obsessive about that."

"You must be quick to take advantage of any opportunities you are given," Natalia said.

"You intentionally dumped that coffee on Buffy, didn’t you!"

"Possibly," Natalia said, a faint smile crossing her lips.

"Business or pleasure?"

"Both," Natalia said. "I enjoyed my time with your sister. And an agency I was affiliated with at the time had questions for her about a local event."

"Hah! That’s what she meant about you taking the initiative. Sometimes she went too far with the Valley Bimbo Girl act."

"You go with what works. It obviously worked for her."

"And Mom?"

"I cannot talk about that, other than to say she had no idea," Natalia said. "But we spent several pleasant hours together."

"Huh," Dawn said. Looking around, she noticed they were attracting attention. Some old guy doing a Xander impression was talking to the guys she’d stolen Natalia from and kept glancing at her. "Your fan club is back with an extra," she said. "Let’s take this back to my room."

"I’ll be right back," Natalia said, holding up a hand. Slipping off her stool, she strode over to her friends. Dawn gulped at the sight. She suspected 'sex on a stick' was invented to describe that walk.

"They won’t bother us," Natalia said, returning. 

"Good," Dawn squeaked. Coughing she tried again. "That’s good. Shall we?" Sliding off her own stool she slipped an arm through Natalia’s and guided her out of the bar. "It’s a couple blocks. Taxi or walk?"

"It’s a pleasant night. Walk," her companion said.

* * *

They were barely in her room, with the door shut, when Natalia shoved her up against the door and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "This is what you had in mind, yes?"

"I was hoping," Dawn said breathlessly. Reaching up she pulled the slightly taller Natalia down into a kiss. Their teeth clashed for a moment as they both fought for control. "Bedroom," Dawn muttered when they broke for air.

"Yes," Natalia said, pulling her away from the door. Walking backwards, she pulled Dawn after her with one hand while unbuttoning her blouse with the other, interrupted by continued kissing.

* * *

Dawn rolled over in her empty bed, sore muscles and the twinge of small bites proof she hadn’t spent the night alone. Listening carefully, she could hear the shower running. Getting out of bed, she stretched to try and relieve the soreness. Grimacing at the futility, she crossed the room, stopping in the open bathroom doorway. 

"Want some company?" she said loudly, towards the occupied shower. The indistinct figure in the shower stopped moving for a moment. A wet arm poke out and waved her over. "Okay, not one for talking first thing in the morning," Dawn muttered to herself. Moving the shower curtain aside, she stepped over the side and into the tub.

"So, red really is your hair color," she said, eyeing her companion from head to toe. "But no green eyes. And you aren’t really pale. So, probably not Irish."

Natalia raised an eyebrow at the comment, her expression clearly stating the obvious.

"Okay, yes, I noticed last night," Dawn said blushing. "But I was too busy with other things to talk."

"Wash my back," Natalia said, handing her a bath sponge and turning around.

"Yes, ma’am," Dawn said, smiling. Grabbing the bottle of body wash, she poured a generous amount on the sponge. Putting the bottle back down, she ran one hand gently down Natalia’s glistening back, following it with the soapy sponge. She’d completely covered Natalia’s back and was starting to work her way lower when Natalia reached behind herself and stopped Dawn’s hand. 

"Don’t forget the front," she said, slowly turning around, keeping the sponge in Dawn’s hand at the same level.

"No, wouldn’t want to forget that," Dawn said. "A little reciprocity would be welcome," she added.

"That would only be fair," Natalia said, lightly tapping Dawn’s lips with her fingers before kissing her while drawing her hand downward.

"Fair is good," Dawn said, several minutes later.

* * *

"Will I see you again?" Dawn asked, taking a bite of toast, while watching Natalia finish dressing. 

"No promises," she said, glancing around Dawn’s hotel room.

"Okay," Dawn said, trying not to make her disappointment at the vague answer obvious. Getting up she dug a business card out of her purse. Grabbing a pen, she wrote down her personal number. "Call me when you’re in the neighborhood," she said, handing Natalia the card, and kissing her cheek.

* * *

"So? Did you find her?" Willow asked, barging into Dawn’s office.

"Yes," Dawn said.

"Did you get the answers you wanted?" she asked, perching on Dawn’s desk.

"Some," Dawn said. "Additional research may be required." She winked at her friend.

"Details!" Willow said, waving her hand at the door. "Friends don’t keep things from friends," she said after it had shut. 

"A lady doesn’t kiss and tell," Dawn said.

"So there was kissing? Wasn’t that weird?" Willow asked.

"For about a second," Dawn said. "But I got over it. And she didn’t seem to care."

"Huh," Willow said. "That’s a bit too kinky for me."

"It’s not like Mom or Buffy were right there," Dawn said. "That definitely would have been a mood killer."

"What’s she look like?" Willow asked. "Did you get any pictures?"

"No, but I’m not going to forget her," Dawn said. "But if you really want to see what she looks like…"

"Of course," Willow said.

Reaching over, Dawn grabbed a book from behind her desk. Opening it, she turned to a page near the end. Placing the book in front of Willow, she leaned back.

"This is Andrew’s Superhero ID book," she said, puzzled. Dawn nodded and tapped the picture taking up an entire page. "The Black Widow?"

"Yup," Dawn said. "Also known as Natalia or Natasha Romanova."

"This is Joyce’s Natalia and Buffy’s 'Nat'?" Willow asked, looking up at her with a surprised expression. "They slept with an Avenger? You slept with an Avenger? But not just any Avenger, the sexy super spy one?"

"There was no sleeping involved," Dawn said, grinning. 

"Now you really have to tell me everything," Willow said, closing the book. "And don’t leave anything out."


	4. Epilogue

She hadn’t spoken with her in over a decade, but the former Black Widow had followed Dawn’s final wishes to the letter. Their lives had gone in separate directions after the divorce. She’d been sucked back into the role of super spy and assassin that had defined so much of her life before the Avengers, and Dawn had taken over as head of the Council of Watchers after the death of the last of the original Scoobies.

The small cemetery, on private land near Lake Sunnydale, was protected from time and the elements with ancient protection wards. It had exhausted several powerful witches to raise them to Dawn’s strict specifications. But it was done. And the massive task of moving the new occupants from their scattered graves across the world and reburying them had finally been finished, supervised by the Widow.

Joyce Summers had been brought the shortest distance and laid to rest first, her original grave just down the road on the shore of the lake, in the only Sunnydale cemetery to survive the destruction of the small city. Next, the urn containing Buffy’s ashes, that had been secretly taken from the Council vault in London, had been placed to Joyce’s right.

The remains of Willow Rosenberg had disappeared in a flash of white light after her death, her place between Tara Maclay and Daniel Osborne a marker that was purely symbolic. They’d been placed to the north of the graves of the Summers women. Alexander Harris, one of Natasha’s harshest critics during the time she’d been married to Dawn, had been buried below Buffy to the south. Giles, his urn also secretly taken from the same Council vault, had been buried to her right.

Natasha Romanova was not a sentimental person. A long life had burned out her ability to feel that emotion her detractors claimed. But she felt a twinge of something as she placed the final urn, a deep jade reflecting the full moon, in its place to Joyce’s left. Dawn had insisted that she be cremated like her sister.

There were no prayers for her to say, no speeches to give. Some claimed she had no heart but she knew a part of her soul, if she had one, was buried with these three women. One she’d loved, in her own way, one who had challenged her during their brief encounter, and the other she’d regretted using. All three had been special. Hopefully her presence in their lives hadn’t harmed them like so many others.

"That’s a bit maudlin, don’t you think?" an echoing voice said, startling her from her thoughts. Turning towards the voice, Natasha found herself facing a faintly transparent redhead perched on Joyce’s ebony tombstone.

"Willow Rosenberg? You’re dead," she said, resisting the urge to make a superstitious gesture.

"After a fashion," the redhead said. "I told her she was going too far with this," she added, waving at the cemetery. "Buffy epically chewed her out for making you do this. Joyce just gave her a 'sad Mom' look, which is much worse." She shivered delicately.

"Are the others here?" Natasha asked, looking around.

"Nope," Willow said. "They’re all dead. The real thing. Not even ghosts. Moved on to the next part of their existence. Etcetera, etcetera."

"Heaven is a myth," Natasha said. "A superstition."

"Didn’t say they’re in Heaven," Willow said. "Not sure there is one, actually."

"Why aren’t you with them?" she asked.

"Dawn wanted to make sure you’d followed her directions," Willow said. "And she can’t come back so I said I would, being still mobile."

"I’ve followed them exactly," Natasha said, offended by the implication.

"Don’t care," Willow said. "It’s the thought that counts, and this is really for you, blah, blah, blah."

"You’re that First creature that Dawn talked about," Natasha said, suspiciously.

"Well, no. The First would have come back as Dawn and tried to get you to drown yourself in the lake. Or something equally self destructive," Willow said. "And no, I’m not going to try to prove it. That’s like trying to prove a negative."

"You can go back to wherever you came from," Natasha said.

"I think I’ll stick around for a bit," Willow said. "I do appreciate that you brought the rest of us here. Makes it easier to keep an eye on things. I do wonder why Dawn didn’t ask you to stick Anya next to Xander. Or Jenny next to Giles."

"Her instructions didn’t mention an Anya or Jenny," Natasha said, frowning.

"I know," Willow said. "Just think the omission is odd."

A low bell echoed across the cemetery.

"Oops, that’s for me," Willow said. "The whole goddess thing can be inconvenient at times."

Natasha stepped back as the air began to brighten around the being calling herself Willow.

"I’ll be back when it’s your turn," she said. "Which should be a while with that semi-immortality thing you’ve got going. There are three very demanding women waiting for you. Don’t keep them waiting too long."

"What?" Natasha said. "What do you mean?"

"Toodles," Willow said, giving her an amused grin before fading away to the sound of the same bell.


End file.
